A Mutual Understanding
by outtie-5000
Summary: They come from different worlds; Curly adores her world and Rhonda is repulsed by his. When Rhonda's first day of high school is ruined, Rhonda spurns him for life, but what happens when they trade roles and Rhonda is the one watching him from the shadows?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: The first day always sucks.**

Today was the first day of high school for the graduating class of 2003. Currently, it was August 25, 2000, and all the freshmen were filled with a mix of emotions: hope, excitement, thrill, fear, wonder, and general hesitance... They had seen the films. They knew what a big place high school was, and how mean the upperclassmen could be. Would they be hazed? If you asked the tougher of the ex-middle schoolers, they would say they weren't afraid. But they were.

There was one particular freshman, however, that had no fear. In fact, she was confident, bordering arrogant. She looked at the double doors of her new school and smirked as though she had already conquered her new domain. Rhonda Wellington Lloyd had nearly spent a _thousand_ dollars refreshing her wardrobe the week before, had spent _hours_ that morning picking her outfit and readying her hair and makeup, and was now standing before these doors knowing that she looked _fabulous._ In all honesty, she wouldn't be surprised if she had upper classmen dropping at her feet.

It was this confidence she exuded that proved her exactly right; girls and boys alike turned their heads when they heard her walking by, the supermodel-esque stomping of her Spumoni boots attracting the attention of anyone in hearing distance. She could feel the wandering eyes of boys, and her smirk only grew. Unlike some of her classmates, Rhonda had been blessed to lose most of her baby fat early; while it was clear that girls like Nadine and Lila had just come from middle school, if people didn't know better, Rhonda could pass for a junior. Sophomore at the _very_ least.

Most of these high schoolers were ugly. Rough around the edges, or in tacky clothing, and just generally unappealling. There was one guy, however, that she was more than delighted to see. There was Brad Hickey, star of the football team, standing there at his locker. She first noticed him when there was a mass assembly; all of the 8th graders marched their way to the local high school's football field and watched as the football players practiced for their game that afternoon. There had been Brad, a sophomore at the time, all blond hair and blue eyes and _muscles._ On the trek back, all the girls agreed he was gorgeous, although everyone knew he was out of their league. Not Rhonda, though. When she saw him, Rhonda swore that if there was any accomplishment to be made in her first year of high school, it was having _Brad Hickey_ as _her_ boyfriend.

Their eyes met. Her shoulders relaxed, her neck lengthened with grace, and she reached to tuck a lock of her curled hair behind her ear. His eyes lingered for longer than a passing glance; she had him.

"RHONDA, MY PET!"

She felt something smack into her, knocking the wind out of her and pushing her to the ground. She only hit her head lightly and wanted to keep her eyes closed from pain, but something made her open them again: the hot feeling on her chest.

"Is this… soup!?" There was no other way to describe the shriek that erupted from Rhonda's mouth than shrill and stomach-turning. She shoved the person off her and stood, looking down at her $99.00 hand-knit lace shawl, now stained yellow and brown and smelling of beef. Her $300.00 red satin dress shared the same stain and the same odor of food. She could never wear _these_ again.

She spun to the perpetrator that was lying at her feet, cackling and stroking her calves.

"My dove! How long it has been since we've last met! Although not since I've last seen you, for you just visited me in my dreams."

Her hands were trembling. "CURLY! What- what-!?" She tried stepping away from his hands, but the bespectacled geek only clung on tighter.

"My love, I was walking to buy some groceries when I spotted you and Nadine coming from Slausser's. Being the gentleman I am, I followed you home to make sure you arrived safely when I noticed you had a cough. My poor, darling Rhonda—sick! Right before we started high school! I knew you wouldn't miss the first day of school and you would come, despite your debilitating illness, so I stayed up for hours to concoct you this family recipe, sure to rid you of any _diseases_ you may carry. You may reward me with a kiss, or a lock of your hair."

" **I was** _ **cold,**_ **Curly!** " Her voice was starting to crack with how loudly she was yelling at him. She glanced up—oh my god, everyone was laughing. All of them… were _laughing_ at her, and there Curly was, kissing at her ankles. Never before had Rhonda been so… so…

"Curly, get OFF!" She yanked back her foot and kicked him squarely in the face, dislodging him from her legs. There was an audible snap and the hallway was silenced, but oh no, Rhonda Wellington Lloyd wasn't done with this creep. She stormed up to Curly, hunched over and holding a hand to his face, and grabbed him by the collar of his worn-out yellow T-shirt. He had grown (although not much, standing only at 5'4) but was still wearing clothes reminiscent of their elementary days.

"THADDEUS GAMMELTHORPE, you listen to me and you listen _good._ I have put up with you for _ten years._ I am NOT letting you do this to me for another! I am _tired_ of hearing you call me your _pet,_ your _dove,_ your _whatever_ —I am _tired_ of dealing with your _freakish_ antics, I'm _tired_ of seeing you, I'm _tired_ of hearing you, and I just want you out! I just want you OUT! OUT OF MY LIFE! I want you to STOP talking to me! I want you to STOP harassing me! I want you to STOP stalking me, stop groveling at my feet, stop _looking_ at me—"

She saw blood on his face, but she didn't care, he deserved it for everything he put her through, all of the embarrassment, all of the nightmares that maybe one day he'd go too far, "—because you know what? No, Curly, I will _never_ be your girlfriend. I will _never_ look at you the way you do me. I…" she paused, and sneered, " _hate_ you. You're _disgusting,_ Curly, and anyone who's ever told you different is a liar. They're just being nice; it's not like they're your friends. People like you don't _have_ friends, Curly; you _repel_ anyone you talk to. People like you should be _institutionalized._ You're _lucky_ I haven't filed a restraining order, you creepy little _slug._ " She took a deep breath that shook in her chest. "Never, ever, speak to me _again._ "

His glasses had fallen off; she hadn't noticed. All she saw was red. As she released his collar, her view came back into clear focus, and she noticed she had kicked him firmly in the nose, causing his nosebleed. She also noticed tears falling from his eyes, big and sunken and crazy. He got up, grabbed his broken glasses, grabbed his thermos, and walked down the hallway. Rhonda watched as he moved with brisk deliberation, bounding down the stairs one at a time, his shoulders trembling. Slowly, Rhonda turned and looked back at the silent crowd.

Most turned away, not wanting to look her directly in the eye, but whispered to their friends about things she knew could only be about her. Then she saw Brad Hickey shake his head and mutter to a friend, "Damn, what a cold bitch. Freshmen are so embarrassing…"

Oh, fuck.

* * *

Her day had only gotten worse. Smelling like beef and having crazy-eye made every class weird, as most people filed into seats as far from her as possible, even if they were her friends. Why couldn't she and Nadine have had any classes together?

"Whoa, looks like the resident princess is having a shit day," drawled Pataki in Algebra. Rhonda couldn't even muster a response, so Helga shrugged her shoulder and turned back, thinking it a bad idea to provoke an obviously high-strung bear.

After lunch with Nadine, where she had, of course, tripped and fallen on top of her food, embarrassing herself in front of what felt like the _rest_ of the student body, Rhonda discovered that she had English with Curly. He wasn't wearing his glasses; she could tell he had been crying for some time. There was also a bandage on his nose and tissue plugged his nostrils. They made eye contact and he turned away fully. There was a sort of burning anger within her; on one hand, she had asked for this, but on the other, the irrational and selfish side of her was screaming at him, _'How_ dare _you ignore me! You've never actually_ listened _to me before! Why now? Why make me look like the cruel villain and just ignore me when I'm having the shittiest day of my life!?'_

She sat down in the back and determined that her English teacher was an asshole after he made a snide comment on her stained clothes. Some kids laughed; Rhonda just wanted to cry.

By the end of the day, Rhonda was rushing to get out of school. Even in high-heeled boots, her feet were flying, taking her out of this damned school as fast as possible.

Was this the second crash today? She hadn't even recovered from the first. Falling flat on her back, Rhonda wheezed and rolled over, clutching at the back of her head. If this were to happen again, she'd definitely have a concussion.

She looked up and groaned in agony; there lay Curly, still without glasses, looking around in a daze. _'Is this why, God? Is it because I told him off this morning? Sure, he had it coming to him, but… I guess I was a bit harsh. Maybe this curse will lift if I apologize to the freak. Besides, it looks like he hasn't had the best day either.'_ Rhonda bit her tongue, silencing the selfish part of her that shrieked to effectively blame Curly for her bad juju, and reached out her hand.

She gasped when he slapped her hand away. Baring his teeth, Curly shoved himself away from Rhonda and stood, turning his shoulder at her. "Sorry," he spat. "I didn't mean to touch your _pure, noble_ body with my… _repulsive_ hands." He turned around, hard, and stormed off, head held low. Rhonda merely lay there on the floor, looking around at her peers. They looked at Curly with pity (word got around quickly) and looked down at Rhonda with disgust.

In a hurry, Rhonda picked herself from the ground and ran out of school. When she looked around and saw no one was close enough to see her face, she started to cry, feeling the hours of time she spent on her makeup crumble away into a wet mess.

This was, officially, the worst day of her life. But maybe someone could help her fix it…


	2. Chapter 2

For clarification, this is a timeline in which San Lorenzo never happened.

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Getting your shit together.**

"I can't just fix your problems, Rhonda."

Rhonda Lloyd took a deep breath and leaned back into the cherry-red pleather of her booth seat. In front of her was a sundae with only one bite taken from it. She was too busy telling the story of her day (leaving out the _embarrassing_ Curly situation, of course…) to pay it any mind.

She tucked her bangs behind her ear, cleared her throat, and smiled as if about to lay a grand deal on the table, as was the Lloyd way. Arnold Shortman sat across from her, his perpetually lidded gaze unimpressed. In front of him was an empty glass, the remains of a tall chocolate shake. Even if he had wanted to give commentary, Rhonda hadn't taken a single pause, so he took the opportunity to drink away.

Finally, she scoffed and rolled her eyes, unable to find the patience to civilly negotiate. Her perfect Lloyd smile shattered. "And why _not?_ If I recall, _you're_ the one always meddling in other peoples' problems."

"Rhonda, I did that when I was _nine._ We're fourteen now."

She rolled her eyes again, frustrated she asked him there in the first place. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy Arnold's company; he was still considered one of the coolest and most mellow kids in the class of 2003, and she had enough money to pay for a thousand milkshakes, but if _he_ couldn't fix her problem, she was absolutely doomed, and would rather spend her time at home wallowing in her own misery.

"I think this is important enough to meddle! Everyone at Hillwood _hates_ me now. _Me_ , Rhonda Wellington Lloyd, the most popular girl in school just four months ago!"

"Rhonda, we're not at P.S. 114 or I.S. 825. We're in a new school now. I've never even seen most of these people before; whatever reputation you brought is lost."

Cutting words from such a friendly face. Rhonda sputtered, wheezed, and threw her hands up at the insanity of it all. Arnold was known to be honest, but never _cruel._ Or maybe it was just Fate that was cruel. Whoever it was, they made her lose her appetite. She shoved her sundae towards him (he was secretly pleased) and plopped her face on her hand, propping her elbow onto the table and staring out through the window.

Of course she would pout. Arnold sighed and fidgeted with the brim of his hat. He had to remember to be careful around Rhonda; he was so used to talking to Gerald and Helga over the summer that he forgot how _sensitive_ some people could be. He spoke slowly, caution lacing his words.

"Rhonda… I saw you run into Curly. After class."

She froze completely; her jaw clenched and her face tightened. She tapped her manicured nails on the table and rolled her shoulder, physically brushing off his unsaid inquiry. He continued.

"I heard what he said to you."

"What a jerk, right?" she laughed, her throat constricting. She glanced over and saw his disappointed frown. A lead weight dropped in her stomach, pulling her gaze down to the table. He wasn't the jerk. Of course not. Curly, the madman that had been in love with her since preschool, snubbed Rhonda Wellington Lloyd. It could only have been brought on by her wrongdoing. She was the major jerk.

There was a long silence. Why was it so hot in there? Her neck itched; she pulled at the collar of her stained shawl. Maybe some ice cream would cool her down. She took about five bites before looking back up to Arnold; he was _still_ staring at her, patiently awaiting an explanation. With a grand sigh, she slammed down her spoon.

"What do you want me to say, huh? _You_ try being stalked since preschool! _You_ try having to deal with an overly-aggressive _freak_ whose life revolves around professing their love to you! You act like this _wise sage_ , **so** calm beyond your years, but even _you_ couldn't last a day, let alone ten years."

"I have."

The hum of cheap fluorescent screamed in their ears. Immediately after saying it, Arnold's cheek twitched and he finally broke eye contact, choosing to look at the grimy tiled floor. Everyone knew, but this was the first time he let anyone know he knew. Rhonda looked down at the floor too, feeling guilty for both putting him on the spot and for losing her cool at Curly. She and Arnold were similar in that way, but Arnold had always stayed patient and understanding. Rhonda, meanwhile, had absolutely no patience with Curly, and had completely snapped at him this time.

"So, um… How long have you…?"

"Since we saved the neighborhood." His voice had hardened. He pulled the brim of his hat down a little farther. He was closing off, but she persisted. It took her mind off her own mistakes.

"So… you two never talked about it?"

He shook his head, blond tuft of hair bouncing playfully in contrast to his morose expression. He picked up his spoon and took a bite of Rhonda's sundae, speaking through melted ice cream. "What's there to say at this point?"

"I dunno, that you're _madly_ in love with her?"

He gasped and dropped his spoon, turning to hack and wheeze from the ice cream in his lungs. Rhonda smiled, finally feeling herself cheering up a bit. Everyone knew that Helga was Arnold's weak point. Over other girls, he's been visibly lovelorn, heartbroken, excited, dismayed… but Helga was the only girl to make Arnold _flustered_.

"I… am _not_ …"

"You still have that book, don't you?" It was like flipping a switch; his skin turned from a sun-kissed honey to a loud scarlet. "I saw it at your last party. You have it bookmarked."

He turned back, shaking his head and avoiding eye contact. His eyes stayed focused on the sundae. The corner of his lip twitched and he pulled off his hat only to readjust it tighter on his head.

"You have to talk to Curly."

She frowned; her fun was over already. She was about to refuse when he continued.

"It's only fair. Curly is a little… _eccentric_ , but he's still a person. He… he deserves some honesty. A real conversation."

Rhonda sighed and ran her fingers along her scalp. How annoying—but it must be done. The quicker, the better. She laid a $20 on the table and stood, drawing her shoulders back and keeping her chin held high. If a Lloyd was going to apologize to someone like _Curly_ … she would do it with the utmost dignity and pride. She strode towards the door, wanting to get it over with ASAP.

"Wait. Rhonda?"

"My lips are sealed, Arnold."

"Okay…

"…but, Rhonda?"

She looked over her shoulder.

"Don't get too involved."

* * *

Freshly showered and donning a summer frock, Rhonda stood in front of Curly's front door, her fist hovering in front of the dark oak. She had spent the whole hour of getting prepared with the utmost confidence that she could definitely lower herself to the level of apologizing to Curly. Regardless of whatever he had done, Rhonda had both insulted him _and_ physically hurt him; her parents would be ashamed to learn one of their own, a Lloyd, had done something so theatrical and shameful. It was only right that she try to make up for her mistakes.

Right before she knocked on the door, however, she was suddenly flooded with doubts. What would happen if she apologized? Would he go back to being a creepy stalker? She had to apologize if she wanted to fix her reputation, but she would certainly pick a damaged reputation over going back to _that_ Hell…

What if he denied her apology? Slammed the door right in her face? Of course, _she_ would know that she had apologized, but no one else would. Should she apologize in public? Would that be more or less embarrassing? She certainly wouldn't _beg_ for his forgiveness.

This was a bad idea. She snatched her hand away, sniffed, and turned to walk back down the concrete steps.

There was a click. She froze. It seemed Fate wouldn't let her escape her social obligations. She closed her eyes, turned around, and drew a deep breath.

"We aren't taking girl scout cookies right now."

She opened her eyes and reeled backwards. In front of her stood a tall, lanky woman with a Midwestern black bob and… the same glasses as her son…

Her horse face broke into a wide smile, suddenly making her awkward features endearing in a geeky way. "HA! I'm just kidding! We're always taking girl scout cookies." Rhonda opened her mouth to speak but was cut off. "Don't worry dear, I know who you are. Please, come in." The woman stepped aside and Rhonda smiled nervously, wondering how much this woman knew about her life if she recognized her by sight.

It wasn't the first time Rhonda had been in Curly's house. She walked through the familiar hallways before stopping at a staircase and turning to her childhood nemesis' mom. "Um, Mrs. Gammelthorpe? Is Curly here?"

"Oh, maybe! He went straight to his room when he came home, but he might have left for ballet practice. Through the window, of course. Here, just go up these stairs; the first door on your left is his."

"Uh, alright. Thank you." Rhonda turned, bounding up the first three stairs before she heard the woman call her back.

"Rhonda, darling. Curly was crying." She bristled, not ready to apologize to Curly's mom before Curly himself. "Do you have any idea why?"

What was she to say? _Sorry Mrs. Gammelthorpe, but I actually broke your beloved son's heart in front of the whole school on the first day. It only makes sense that he was crying, since the love of his life spurned him when all he tried to do was make her_ _ **soup.**_

"I'll pay for the glasses."

Before she could see Mrs. Gammelthorpe's reaction, Rhonda turned and bolted up the stairs, grateful she wasn't followed so she could think about Curly doing _ballet._

"Curly?" She knocked three times, awaiting an answer. She pressed an ear to the door but heard nothing, and so entered.

What kind of hobbies did Curly even have? He had a bowling pin lamp, his calendar showed pictures of car tires, he had a display of bugs above his bed, and he had rulers and protractors sitting on his desk. She closed the door behind herself and took another step in. He had a list of goals on the wall, most of them being different foods. She squinted; his handwriting was atrocious. _Too_ atrocious for a high schooler. Underneath it was a picture of… himself, taken years before. If she were to be honest, he looked mostly the same. It wasn't that fair an assessment though; all you could really see when you looked at him was his bowl cut and ugly bottle-cap glasses. She hadn't taken a good look at his face in quite some time. She was always trying to avoid him. Shame filled her chest, so she looked away from the photo back to the calendar.

"1995? The fourth grade?" Written across the week was "BALL MONITOR". She looked back to the bug display case. Sunlight streamed from the window, revealing a thick coating of dust on the glass. Rhonda walked to the bed and sat down, bouncing and feeling the firmness of the mattress. She lied down and scowled—this was way too short, even for Curly! She stood and walked to his desk, looked towards the door, towards the open window, and sighed. Even _she_ wasn't above snooping every once in a while…

She opened the drawers and sifted through. The top drawer was filled with homework and report cards from elementary school. He wasn't very good with math or science, but he had aced anything history and English-related. She smirked; he always did have a way with words, even if it gave her unpleasant gooseflesh.

The bottom drawer was filled with a variety of things. A stack of papers were tied together with a rubber band. Rhonda grabbed it and turned it over, seeing the one on top was labeled To Rhonda. _'Curly, what could you possibly have to write to me that you wouldn't just say in person?'_ She sighed and set them back; her curiosity was strong, but curiosity killed the cat.

There were two picture frames, both covered in dust. One was of Rhonda—the same signed picture she had given him when they had to pretend to date in the fourth grade. Rhonda laughed at her own image, posing so ridiculously. She set it down and picked up the other frame, her eyes lighting with surprise. The picture was of her when she was very young; her hair was drawn into high ponytails and even then, she donned a red sweater. She could tell it was a candid photo; she was sitting on a swing, talking with little Nadine. She turned the frame over. "Ronda W Loid – '90" was written in crayon. She brought a hand to her mouth and snickered.

Nestled in the back of the drawer was a book. After pulling it from the drawer, Rhonda could see the cover was labeled "Rhonda". She sucked in a deep breath. What had she thought? Curiosity killed the cat? She didn't have to read the letters, but maybe a peek in this book wouldn't hurt. After all, satisfaction brought it back…

It was a photo album. The first few pages were filled with class and yearbook pictures. Perfectly normal. She breathed a sigh of relief, but felt her blood run cold when she continued flipping.

More candid photos, and more recent. The farther into the book she went, the older she became. Most of them were simple photos of her walking through the halls, working on a test, getting ice cream with Nadine, dancing at her own parties. Some of them made her laugh, albeit nervously; her covered in dust from playing baseball, or covered in mud from football. She saw her yearbook picture from sixth grade and turned the page.

Poetry. Next to each picture was a poem. She closed the book, stared at the wall, and reopened it. She didn't dare read them whole, but as she flipped through the pages, she caught snippets of each.

 _Her gaze is startling…_

 _Let my dove fly…_

 _Her touch consumes me…_

 _Monstrously beautiful…_

 _I would cry if she would let me…_

 _Opulent and cold…_

 _A love untouchable…_

 _The cosmos could never compare…_

 _Rain, like her breath…_

 _I think too much, feel too much…_

 _I beg for salvation! O Lord!_

Rhonda shut her eyes, thumbing the page. Should she read them? Something inside her told her it was a terrible idea, but something about all of this was too enticing. The fact that his room looked absolutely untouched besides this _one_ photo album was burning at the back of her mind. Maybe this book had a clue as to why…

She flipped the page and saw a lock of black hair taped to the paper. She flung the book across the room, effectively spooked. It flew out the window.

"RHONDA!"

She screamed and spun around, seeing only Mrs. Gammelthorpe in the doorway with a smile that looked too much like Curly's. In her hands was a tray of cookies. "Dear, when you're done snooping, I've made us a snack. Come down whenever you're ready." She disappeared and left Rhonda alone in the room, her heart ready to explode out of her chest.

Another noise startled her out of her skin: Nadine's ringtone. She dug her phone from her dress' pocket and flipped it open.

"Nadine. We need to talk."

"Uh, yeah we do. Where are you?"

"Huh?"

"Slauser's! The mixer!"

Oh shit. Rhonda snapped her phone closed and turned, rushing out the door.

"I'm sorry ma'am but I have to be somewhereI'mreallysorrythank youformakingmecookiesandtea!" Rhonda slammed the front door behind her and ran down the street, her head filled with questions. Why was Curly's room untouched, save for a single photo album? Was he still taking photos of her to this day? Did her hair look good for the mixer? Who would be at Slauser's? He practiced ballet? Could she really save her reputation? Was his mom really so used to him sneaking out? Where would he even go?

As Rhonda ran to meet with her best friend, she silenced all of the questions in her head and decided she had to stop to buy glasses later that night.


End file.
